He leaped upon the rail and balanced himself there, to get a greater elevation; his pipe striking a rope, was knocked from his mouth. He lunged for it; a short, hoarse cry came from his lips as he realized he had reached to far and lost his balance.
Hunting? Great Guns, General Zuroff, what you speak of is murder.
I never joke about hunting. I just need a new animal to hunt.
The pit grew deeper; when it was above his shoulders, he climbed out and from some hard saplings cut stakes and sharpened them to a fine point. These stakes he planted in the bottom of the pit with the points sticking up. With flying fingers he wove a rough carpet of weeds and branches and with it he covered the mouth of the pit.